


Gray and Tender is the Rain

by Farasha



Series: King's Consort [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Erebor Reclaimed, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Consort Bilbo Baggins, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-27 00:42:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5027077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farasha/pseuds/Farasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo's plans for a lovely day outside in the summer sunshine are ruined by a sudden thunderstorm, but King and Consort can find other ways to entertain themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gray and Tender is the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Somewhere, eight-year-old-me is staring in horror and Tolkien is rolling in his grave. I regret nothing.

Bilbo took breakfast and tea on the terrace at dawn, watching the day break into promising shades of pale blue and gold. Thorin, of course, managed to lie in until second breakfast - how he managed on only three meals a day, Bilbo would never know. _It would be a shame, certainly, to waste this sight by staying in bed. And it would be a shame to waste this beautiful day on meetings in the mountain._

Bilbo settled in at the writing desk and politely re-scheduled everything for tomorrow. The initial negotiations from their first couple years in the mountain were long concluded, and by and large the mountain seemed to run itself. There was still open court (bothersome) and meetings with the various guild masters (more bothersome), but Erebor would continue to function if King and Consort were unavailable for one day. 

His missives completed, Bilbo puttered around their chambers, quietly slipping the door open to have a page deliver them - and to send for luncheon to be packed. By the time he managed to lure Thorin from bed with second breakfast - his king was still shuffling and half-asleep, his hair mussed and his braids tangled - he was dressed for the day.

Thorin caught Bilbo as he made for the table and pulled him in close, a warm, solid weight against his back. Bilbo smiled to feel a morning kiss pressed to his hair, until Thorin slumped into a chair like he was trying to bring Bilbo down with him.

"Thorin! I'm already dressed, don't wrinkle my clothes!"

"Dressed?" Thorin looked him over, looking torn between disappointment and appreciation. Bilbo didn't think his riding clothes were anything so fine - breeches and a long tunic belted in at the waist, with one of his Durin-blue cloaks over the top. "Dressed for riding. Where are you going?"

" _We_ are going out. It's a beautiful summer day and I'm not going to spend it on meetings and bureaucracy. Neither will you."

Thorin paused in the middle of piling breakfast on his plate. "Bilbo, I can't. I have the…" he trailed off, watching what was no doubt a rather Tookish smile that Bilbo couldn't keep from spreading across his face.

"No," he said. "You do not."

Thorin went without argument after that. Bilbo was quite right - the morning was perfect for a slow, leisurely ride on ponyback, their luncheon packed in a small wooden basket. The land around the mountain was green with summer, warm and smelling alive. They stopped to eat under a shady tree, and spent a perfect amount of time afterward rolling about like fauntlings under the mildly tolerant eyes of their ponies.

Thorin had him pinned with his larger bulk, grinning, his dark hair falling around them like a curtain. Bilbo shifted, setting his heel on Thorin's knee and giving a firm push - enough to roll him on his back with a surprised 'oof', Bilbo straddling his chest. Thorin's eyes were so bright and blue and crinkled at the corners in a smile. Bilbo leaned in, watching them flutter closed as he drew close enough for them to share breath, and kissed each eyelid softly. Thorin cradled Bilbo's face in his broad hands, eyes still closed, and guided their mouths together.

The sunlight was dappled with shadows on their skin and the grass around them, the low drone of buzzing insects and occasional snorting from the ponies the only counterpoint to the soft, wet noises of their kisses. Bilbo threaded his fingers through the thick falls of Thorin's hair, holding him in place as he coaxed his tongue into Thorin's mouth, breathing in a contented sigh. Thorin's hands left his face and instead settled on his hips, thumbs resting on his hipbones and fingers curled in the soft flesh of his backside.

Which was of course why a distant rumble of thunder sounded - just as things were becoming interesting.

Bilbo sat up abruptly, breathless and red-faced from too many kisses. "Is that a storm?"

Thorin threw his arm over his eyes and let out a very heartfelt groan at the interruption. He rolled to his feet and backed out from under the tree, shading his eyes from the sun.

Abruptly, he turned on his heel and walked to the ponies, pulling up the stakes for their grazing leads. "Pack quickly," he said. "There's a summer squall coming down from the north. It'll be on us swifter than you think."

"Blasted mountains!" Bilbo brushed off the grass from his trousers and bundled up the picnic washing in the blanket - it could always be laundered. By the time the basket was packed and stowed, the wind was already picking up into a bluster.

Bilbo hoped they could keep the ponies to something comfortable, like a trot, but the thunder boomed louder from behind them, and he looked back to see clouds of a dark, threatening blue-grey bearing down on them rapidly indeed.

Even at a gallop, they didn't make Erebor before the storm reached them. Bilbo barely felt the brush of rain at first, and then a second later a deluge of water soaked him to the skin. The sky opened, and the wind threw sheets of rainwater up Bilbo's back as he spluttered and shivered and bemoaned his luck.

The guards who came to meet them at the gate and hustle them inside were very round-eyed and suspiciously silent as Bilbo did his best to slide out of the saddle in a _dignified_ manner befitting the Consort. His bare feet landed with a wet slap on the stone floor, and he looked down at himself to find his clothes absolutely plastered to him, his white tunic practically transparent and the fine blue cloak near midnight in color. He looked up at Thorin and huffed, rolling his eyes a little in a gesture that invited Thorin to commiserate.

Only to find Thorin was surveying him with quite a different look in his eye than good-humored annoyance. "You cancelled _all_ of my meetings for today?"

"Yes," Bilbo said. "I had no way of knowing when we would be back, of course."

Thorin caught Bilbo up in his arms, a romantic effect that was somewhat ruined by the shower of water dripping from his hair and his beard onto his hapless passenger.

"Thorin!"

"We will be retiring to our rooms," Thorin said, as if he hadn't heard Bilbo protest. The guards both bowed to their king, and Thorin strode away toward their chambers, heedless of the puddle he left in their wake or the wide-eyed looks as they passed. Bilbo laughed and pushed at Thorin's hold on him, scolding him half-heartedly for getting rain water on the walkways and carting him about in public.

Their chambers were in the higher levels of the mountain, and boasted windows and a balcony - not the traditional rooms of the monarch where Thorin's grandfather had dwelled, but all the more appreciated by a hobbit used to fresh air and sunshine. Now they were bathed in a cool grey half-light, almost as dark as dusk, and the steady beat of rain sounded on the glass.

Thorin set Bilbo on his feet, but didn't let him out of his arms - Bilbo had an idea of what was on his mind even before he pulled the laces loose on Bilbo's tunic and fumbled the belt open with large, deft fingers. Bilbo was in agreement on the need to shed their wet clothes, and was perfectly amenable to resuming the rolling about that the storm had so rudely interrupted. He turned his attentions to Thorin's clothes. 

Their cloaks fell to the stone floor with twin wet thwacks. It was a struggle to peel the wet breeches from Thorin's legs, just as his own tunic became tangled around his arms as Thorin tried to draw it off over his head. In short order they were both bare and wet and shivering - and Thorin lifted Bilbo into his arms, his large hands cradling the backs of his thighs. Bilbo dug his fingers into the wet silk of Thorin's hair and pulled him down to kiss him, his blood beginning to run hot despite the chill of their wet skin.

Thorin shuffled to the bed, and then the world tilted and tumbled around them as he lay back all at once, drawing Bilbo down atop him all without relinquishing his mouth for a moment. Bilbo's lips curved against Thorin's and he huffed a small laugh into the space between their lips. Thorin's hair was still dripping wet, and would no doubt soak the linens, but Bilbo had no thought to spare for it - not while Thorin was bare and lax, Bilbo's thighs spread wide across the broad, hairy expanse of his chest.

It was exhilarating to have Thorin beneath him like this - his broad shoulders and the corded strength of his arms laid out across the sheets for him, a solid wall of muscle yielding so easily under his hand. He was so much _bigger_ than Bilbo, his hands making the line of Bilbo's jaw seem fragile as they cradled it.

Bilbo finally had to come up for air, his blood beating loud in his ears, almost as loud as the steady drum of rain on the windows and the wet gasp from Thorin's mouth when they parted. Thorin stroked his broad, callused palms down Bilbo's back, spreading his fingers wide until his hands covered the entirety of the curve of Bilbo's bottom, warm and large, the tips of his fingers flirting with the crack.

A cold stream of water spilled down Bilbo's spine from his drenched curls and he shivered. Thorin's touch was hot on his skin, and yet his prick flagged at the chill. Below him, Thorin's blue eyes were swallowed by the black of his pupils, his lips kiss-swollen pink. Bilbo scooted forward on his knees, his small hands still wound through Thorin's hair, keeping him pinned back to the pillows. Thorin's tongue swept across his lips, realizing Bilbo's intent, and when Bilbo's half-hard prick nudged against his mouth he opened it wide to draw him in.

"Oh yes that's- that's lovely," Bilbo gasped, rocking into the blazing heat of Thorin's mouth, thickening rapidly on Thorin's tongue. He had to loose one hand from the wet fall of Thorin's hair and brace it on the carved stone headboard to keep his balance, pleasure thrumming up his spine. Thorin's eyelids slipped closed and his cheeks hollowed, sucking and rubbing his tongue against the flesh in his mouth. His hands squeezed at Bilbo's cheeks, kneading and pulling him in, eager and yielding all at once.

He looked breathtaking, his dark hair plastered to his skin and strewn tangled across the linens, his lips closed wet and full around Bilbo's cock. Bilbo kept his eyes fixed on the sight of it, rolling his hips in slow, gentle motions to feel every tiny flirt of Thorin's tongue against him.

It wasn't enough - Bilbo wanted both of them to be thoroughly debauched by the end of this. He groped along the top of the headboard until he found the vial of oil they kept there. He slowed his movements, barely twitching in and out of Thorin's mouth, and reached back to close his fingers around Thorin's wrist, barely able to encircle it, prying his hand loose and flicking open the cap of the vial with his thumbnail.

Thorin groaned around his prick when Bilbo tipped the vial, coating his fingers in thick, viscous liquid, the excess dripping down over his wrist and forearm. "Open me up," Bilbo murmured, guiding his fingers back to the crease of his backside before bracing himself on the headboard again.

Thorin didn't hesitate, using his other hand to spread Bilbo open and pressing one slick finger into his hole. Bilbo's spine arched, his vision wavering - Thorin pushed inside slowly, but his fingers were thick and rough compared to Bilbo's own. Bilbo rocked into his mouth again, his eyes finally fluttering shut when Thorin withdrew and twisted, teasing him open with just the tip of his finger, calluses catching at the rim.

As if he was matching the excruciatingly slow pace of Bilbo's hips, Thorin worked him open with seemingly infinite patience - first with two fingers, sunk in deep and spreading open, then with three, crooked to press against the spot of blinding pleasure behind his cock. Bilbo rode back against the thick press of fingers inside him, growing rougher in his eagerness, and still Thorin took him without complaint, swallowing around the crown of him. The stretch of taking three was glorious, and his mouth hung open on soft, appreciative noises that only seemed to make Thorin redouble his efforts, his tongue pressing hard as he sucked.

Bilbo could feel his peak nearing and trembled with it, his head thrown back and his mouth open on a soft stream of sounds, the fingers locked around the headboard nearly white-knuckled. The warm palm covering his arsecheek kept him spread wide for Thorin's fingers. Thorin twisted his hand and pushed and moaned again around Bilbo's cock, and Bilbo's pleasure hit him like a bolt between the eyes, pulling his spine taught as he spilled into Thorin's wet mouth.

Trembling and gasping, he withdrew from Thorin's mouth on shaky thighs. For a moment, the aftermath of his orgasm buzzed in his ears and tingled across his skin - then the glorious pressure of Thorin's fingers inside him was gone, and his eyes flew open to look down at his husband.

Thorin's mouth was plumped and red, his beard slick and wet with saliva and not a small amount of Bilbo's seed wet across his lips. His blue eyes were half-lidded in his pleasure, and dimly Bilbo became aware of the rhythmic motion of his arm.

He reached back and caught Thorin's wrist again, stopping his hand mid-stroke on his cock, and clicked his tongue in admonishment. "Impatient. We have all day together in bed, do you suppose I'm through already?"

"You say that as if you don't roll over and fall asleep afterward," Thorin said, his teeth flashing white against his beard as he grinned.

"Oh, hardly." Bilbo huffed, squirming down Thorin's body. His prick was still soft, but he wanted this - wanted to feel the huge stretch of Thorin's cock inside him when he was already oversensitive and trembling.

The vial of oil lay forgotten against the linens - Bilbo opened it now to coat his palm and then Thorin's cock, its heavy girth hot in his palm. Thorin's hips surged up into his grip and Bilbo squeezed with his knees like he was riding a pony, his thighs splayed open across Thorin's torso. Both of Thorin's hands were on him now, thumbs wrapped around his hips, steadying him as he rose to press the head of Thorin's cock against his slick hole.

The first press of it always felt like Thorin was trying to rend him in two, and now, pleasure-sensitive and already spent once, it set Bilbo to gasping. His thighs quivered, and Thorin held him fast, his hands spanning Bilbo's hips and his fingers pulling his cheeks open to better allow the hot slide of his cock between them. Slowly, panting, with hot pulses of pleasure washing over him from his crown to the tip of his toes, he let Thorin sink deep into him.

He opened his eyes to find Thorin's screwed shut, his bottom lip caught between his teeth and his chest heaving, as if the effort of restraining himself was too much to stand. Bilbo's prick still hung limp between his thighs, and the bliss that dragged through his veins all came from the press of Thorin against the spot of pleasure inside him.

"Thorin," Bilbo croaked, feeling like his voice was as spent as his body. "Thorin, please - I can't stand it if you don't move."

Thorin groaned like the sound had been punched from him, the muscles in his forearms cording as he lifted Bilbo, dragging him up the length of his cock and then back down, his hips snapping up to plunge in deep. A high, delighted cry spilled from Bilbo's lips, and he tangled his fingers in the thick hair of Thorin's chest, holding on as Thorin took him, too wrapped in overwhelming sensation to do more. He was so full, to aching nearly, and his breath hitched every time Thorin's cock sank back into him.

"Bilbo, ah- you look so beautiful like this, I can't- you're so-" Thorin lapsed into his native tongue, harsh consonants spilling from his mouth and the vowels elongated into heady groans cut short by breathless grunts. His voice was as much of a caress as the long slide of his cock inside, the head of it pushing hard against that most sensitive place. 

Bilbo's spent prick twitched, and he gasped like the breath was being driven from his lungs. Thorin's fingers were locked tight around his hips, holding him firm as the tremors started in his thighs, a fluttering deep in his stomach. It spilled over like a white-hot crest, striking him speechless, his limbs twitching with the force of it. It felt like he had come again, but only a weak spurt of fluid came from the tip of his cock, like it had been squeezed out by the heavy fullness of Thorin inside him.

Thorin gave a ragged shout and yanked Bilbo's hips down, his heels digging at the bedclothes, his teeth clenched and the tendons in his neck corded. Through the aftershocks of his own peak, Bilbo felt the wet pulse of Thorin's cock inside him - it sent a languid, coiling sense of satisfaction through him, and he sank down to drape himself across Thorin's chest.

"If you're planning on falling asleep," Thorin said, still sounding breathless in the aftermath, "might I suggest you move over?"

"I'm quite enjoying myself, thank you," Bilbo said, spread out over Thorin like a sleepy blanket. Thorin had not quite become soft enough to slip free of him, and he delighted in the sensation of warmth all through him.

"Yes, I could tell that." Thorin sounded amused, and Bilbo looked up to see a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. 

He shuddered as they finally separated, a gush of hot seed running out of him, over his thighs to drip on Thorin, who made a face at the sensation. Bilbo only grinned into his skin and curled his toes, content that they had both been utterly ruined for anything but bedsport for the rest of the day.

Thorin shifted him around despite his half-awake grumbling about the dwarf making a perfectly serviceable pillow, tucking Bilbo in against his side. He threw a warm fur over the two of them, apparently not caring about the resulting stains, and promptly dozed off, his chest rumbling with deep snores.

 _Lovely day_ , Bilbo thought drowsily, curled up against Thorin under the snug shelter of his arm. Afternoon tea would arrive soon, and he would take that near the window overlooking the terrace, where he could watch the storm, perhaps crack the door to put his feet out in the summer rain, and watch his king laze about in bed until dinner.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from poetry (as usual): "[Oh, Gray and Tender is the Rain](http://allpoetry.com/Oh,-Gray-And-Tender-Is-The-Rain)" - Lizette Woodworth Reese


End file.
